Saturday night, and re-minisce found himself at the mercy of Ken's boys who decided that the cure for his recent propensity towards moodiness would apparently be a visit to a Thai disco.
Expensive drinks and cheap women.
Hanging with Ken's "VIP" boys meant avoiding the seedy trawling escorts and being personally introduced to the "classy" singers, who variously tried to physically wipe the sadness off his lips, or grab his hand to put to their foreheads which were ostensibly burning up with fever. Cute.
I'd rather just look morosely at my drink before I kill it, thank you.
There's something about time that changes the way one thinks; once upon a time I would have been thrilled at the prospect of meeting hot-chicks, regardless of insurmountable language barriers and jarringly-loud conversation-obliterating music.
Watching ken's boy chatting shyly to the babe who'd just done an admirable evanescence, watching her watching my eyes, all I felt was... nothing.
****
I need to study.
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